


Heartless

by Televa



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Era, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Behavior, Character Study, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Reminiscing, Sad with a Happy Ending, Scheming, dark past - hinted, john silver might have a heart what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26884930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Televa/pseuds/Televa
Summary: It was something Silver will deeply be afraid of, to have a heart. It is one thing to be scared for yourself, to take care of only your needs even if they overlap with someone else's - that's something Silver’s more than used to.But this? Scared for someone else's life and being unable to do anything? Utterly terrifying.
Relationships: Muldoon/John Silver
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Heartless

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language, Silver is such a tough character to write, this turned out to be more meta than originally planned.
> 
> I hope you like it!

The knife in Silver's hand feels unfamiliarly heavy. There's a carving right under his thumb, two slender letters, _LC_ , that held a meaning the world would never have the privilege to discover. For them, there had only been Muldoon, a gunner with the filthiest mouth on the _Walrus_ and a never ending incapability to learn manners which had exasperated Silver to no end. 

The ship is nowhere near big enough to avoid somebody to the ends of time, so, slowly, like a newborn fawn learning to walk, they had begun to tolerate each other. Although Muldoon still did his best to mock Silver's cooking skills, to which he was only replied with a _hey, it was Randall's turn this time, I only peeled the vegetables_ in the passive aggressive tone Silver oh so fondly uses whenever aggravated.

When that voice began being reserved only for Muldoon, and when their arguments turned into a peculiar mating dance between them neither one clearly understood, nobody could pinpoint the moment clearly. Muldoon and Silver the least, both too stubborn for their own good to back down or admit something as trivial as feelings. Yet somehow they had clicked - and the whole of Nassau had sighed in relief, her motley inhabitants so done with the everbickering duo.

Now, soon at least, the only thing left of the man could be the knife in Silver's hand and the half-healed markings on his neck.

He rests his head against the wooden boards of the ships and closes his eyes. His mind betrays him, bringing back only hidden memories about Muldoon’s eyes, the way light dances in them and the kindness they always twinkled with. Muldoon was, _is,_ Silver corrects himself, _Muldoon is not dead yet, only on the brink of it_ a fierce and a cruel warrior, truly somebody to feared on the battlefield - and yet, _yet,_ he always looks at Silver with such kindness in his eyes that it makes the words in Silver’s silvertongue dissolve into nothing but a stuttering mess.

A spitfire, so hard to tame. That’s their Muldoon.

_That’s his Lorcan._

But now those eyes might be gone forever, just like those lost in the sea under the untrustable waves right where they all would someday end up in. So many of their brothers were lost in the fight, lives were taken by force, by a terrible whim of fate, and not given by free will. When Flint had realised they had walked right into a cleverly constructed ambush, they had scattered back to the _Walrus_ , alas it had already been too late. With blood on their faces and bodies cut by the enemy’s sharp swords, most of the crew had survived. Too many lost, though. Too many.

The door to the captain’s cabin had been closed the second they had gained broken away from _The Golden Matilda_ , and there was no doubt Flint and Gates were ingaged in a heated conversion behind the closed door on what the fuck just happened.

Billy was probably doing his best to eavesdrop on their conversation, the bosun always so keen on keeping track of what was truly happening in the shadows on the _Walrus_ , while the rest of the crew was regrouping with DeGroot’s lead.

Silver had never meant to become a part of the crew nor the _Walrus’_ everyday life, not truly, not for good. When he had killed the cook back on the _Red Dawn_ and then stolen the page with the coordinates to the Urca d’Lima, he had only wanted to save his own ass. Sure, the life on the _Red Dawn_ hadn’t been rosy and tolerable at best, dying wasn’t something he had planned on doing in a long, long time yet.

Plus, there was always so much hassle and extravaganza around the dying part itself. To be a nameless John Doe suited him better as putting himself into the narrative turned the spotlight straight to him, the light forever too bright to give true space to mold the world the way he wanted.

No one had seen through his real intentions. All too soon had Silver secured himself a place right next to Flint.

In the last eight months climbing through the ranks had been easier than first thought, as being an absolutely horrific cook with no skills in the kitchen left him more free time to learn more about the various stories of the crewmates, easy smiles and loud laughs giving him more and more opportunities to befriend them all. In the end, nobody could resist an encouraging slap on the shoulder and stories of childhood shenanigans shared in hushed tones in the wee hours of morning. 

The only truth ever told in those moments was that Silver had curly hair just like her Mother’s. Actually, it was all he had known of her, her life robbed away when he had been just short of five, his brother three years older. To what kind of rails did life turn from there, Silver had no intentions to reminisce. Those years didn’t exist, that life had left him with no items to remember by. And now, from this life, he has Muldoon’s knife, and that is enough at this point.

The _Walrus_ turned out to be quite an adventure. The ship creaks and Joji’s loud shouting can be heard from above. It seems that the crew has returned back to whatever tasks DeGroot has given them. Perhaps in another situation they would sail straight back to Nassau the quickest they can, regroup and fix whatever damage the ship has endured. But now, with almost fourty crewmates lost, Flint would never show his face on the beloved shores of Nassau. He’s too proud to admit it was his mistake that cost so many lives, too proud to face the consequences just yet. 

He will have to emerge from the cabin at one point, and when that happens, Silver will be there.

He has to be careful, though, in his decision on what to do next. There was so much to lose and Flint was growing suspicious. Silver wasn't completely trusted anymore - another sign of this was that Silver was now on the lower deck while others discussed upstairs. Flint had begun to keep him at arm's length, a pair of keen eyes on him. The worst part? It suited Silver more than well, but in moments like this, waiting on news about his mate’s condition with dark curls of anxiety coiling in his insides, it was killing him. 

For so terribly many years, John Silver had been a man built on tales - tales that no longer held a meaning and had begun to become a real human being, flesh and bones and blood. A human being, he had a fucking _mate_ goddammit, a mate that had given him a heart. It was something Silver will deeply be afraid of, to have a heart. It is one thing to be scared for yourself, to take care of only your needs even if they overlap with someone else's - that's something Silver’s more than used to.

But this? Scared for someone else's life and being unable to do anything? Utterly terrifying. Sweat runs down his face, the small of his back, and there’s no certainty is it his vision swimming or he himself feeling dizzy. 

Muldoon was in the caring hands of Dr Howell, a well capable man and one the best in Nassau. All should be fine, all _will_ be fine, but the anxiety entwined with his blood and muscles isn’t soothed.

The railing against his back is hard and raggedy enough to leave marks in the skin. All there is to do is to wait and twiddle the knife in his hands.

Seagulls scream. Something heavy, probably a table or something similar, is flipped over and the thump of it echoes through the hull. Gates’ cursing is muffled and incoherent.

The doctor opens the door and the worrying look on his face knocks all breath from Silver’s lungs.

No.

Fuck, _no._

Then, Dr Howell dares to flash a lopsided smile, "He'll be alright. Make sure he doesn't strain himself, no working, exercising or such for a week at least. Find me if something happens," and leaves carrying a pile blood-soaked clothes and linen in his arms so that Silver can enter the room. 

"Ye look like shite," Muldoon says the second the door is closed. The bastard even dares to crack a shiteating grin from the bed-like trestle he's on, all cleaned up with no traces of blood left on his slightly tanned skin. His beloved axegun is placed on a side table, just close enough to be grabbed if needed. Fresh bandages are covering almost all of his torso from the left shoulder to the navel, a touch of blood already soaking through the linen from his side. 

Silver looks at him, a heartbeat, another, a third, and takes five steps closer only to close Muldoon in a tight embrace. He sputters but embraces back with just as much force, his better hand automatically petting the dark curls.

Silver’s heart starts beating again. 

“Got a little worried did ye?” Muldoon asks when they separate. He’s sitting up now with his back straight, though the white-knuckled grip on the edge of the trestle betrays him. The pain must be atrocious, yet not a single whimper gets past his lips.

“I am not heartless, you know,” Silver replies as he grabs Muldoon’s hand and squeezes, the meaning of _I was paralyzed with worry_ not lost on them. A smile is exchanged.

“Heartless? Nah, a pretty little thing like ye could never be heartless.” 

The air smells like sea, like salt, and Silver thinks, _with you gone I would be._ Perhaps one day, if fate is kind enough and there’s a future he could look to with something other than endless scheming and vigilance, he would muster up enough courage to say it aloud. Oh, a confession so bold would leave him thoroughly vulnerable, it would rip his soul open leaving not a single cranny unshined upon. The thought alone is somewhat scary, but now is not the time for it.

Now, he concentrates on Muldoon’s soft, _warm_ hand under his, the simple way his heart beats, and how, for once, the passage of time doesn’t touch this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I am physically unable to kill Muldoon and that's so sexy of me.
> 
> Please come scream about him with me, I'm too-spoopy-to-be-frukd on tumblr.


End file.
